


The Love Cure [A Newtmas Fix-It Fic]

by Thomaddicted



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner, dylmas, newtmas - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Blood, Character Death Fix, Cuddles, Death Cure Ending, Fever Cure Spoilers, First Love, Fix-It, Frottage, Hugging, Jealous Newt, Kissing, M/M, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, Newt/Thomas - Freeform, Oblivious Thomas (Maze Runner), Pining Newt, Stuff Between Events, TFC, Teresa Lives, Thomas saves Newt, Trigger Warnings, Young Love, because reasons, death cure au, don't lie to me, newtmas - Freeform, tdc, tmr - Freeform, tst, young lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 00:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17152328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thomaddicted/pseuds/Thomaddicted
Summary: Merry Newtmas!!A retelling of the ending of "The Death Cure", where Thomas actually saves Newt.Specifically covers the blank spaces of time where we don't see what happens between events, and completely explains some of what we all suspect what was happening.Not smutty, but has a few very naughty moments.





	The Love Cure [A Newtmas Fix-It Fic]

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for blood, some minor suicidal thoughts, and Teresa living.

Thomas watched as Newt worked.

Actually, he watched as Newt mumbled and muttered angrily under his breath as he checked the levels in the tank on the pack.

Newt seemed to forget Thomas was even there, as he checked the masks, and hoses and ties. The welding packs were going to be an important part of the rescue.

In fact, the rescue didn't work without them, so Thomas didn't understand why Newt was so upset he was doing that, and not prepping the chase car with Vince and him.

Newt had been crankier these days, and Thomas had found it harder to ignore. 

The easy bond and camaraderie they had shared from the beginning of their friendship had remained, but there was a strain here and there.

Like earlier.

"Why can't I go with you, Tommy?" Newt's voice edges near a whine. Like a pouting child.

"Because Newt, I need you to lead Luke and Kevin in breaking the locks on the train."

Newt pursed his lips.

"Tommy. I have to go. You can't do this on..."

"I won't be alone Newt. Vince is driving. He'll make sure I'm safe."

Newt kept his lips pursed, but his eyes were wounded. 

"He better." Newt mumbled.

Newt's eyes darted back and forth, like he was looking for something. 

Thomas noticed that happened more, and he often set his hand on Newt's shoulder for support.

It seemed to the anchor the boy, somehow.

 

It never used to be like this. 

When Thomas came up from the box all that time ago (Was it barely a year ago?), he was as terrified as he could be.

Newt had been the person who made Thomas feel at home. Felt like home, if Thomas was being 100% honest with himself. 

That night, in the Glade, at the bonfire, something had clicked between them. Thomas and Newt had almost kissed, it was clear that there was something there.

After putting Chuck to bed, and getting into his hammock, Thomas tossed and turned. He felt like something was pulling at him.

He got up to use the restroom, and on his way back, he noticed that the door to Newt's hut was open, slightly.

Thomas swallowed, and stood, staring at the door, unsure of what he wanted to happen. Unsure of what could happen.

Newt was standing just inside the door, and gently pulled it open. 

Thomas went inside, where he found Newt behind the door. 

No words were spoken between them, as their bodies pressed into each other. Thomas eagerly pressed his lips to Newt, completing the kiss they'd missed earlier.

Newt's lips were soft, but his kiss was rough, and Thomas needed them. Needed to feel those lips pressed against his own. 

Breathlessly, urgently, they kissed. 

They clung to each other. Newt's fingers curled into Tommy's hair. 

"Do you remember, Tommy?" 

Thomas shook his head.

Newt's eyes looked sad, and he stroked Thomas' hair.

"Nothing?" 

Thomas closed his eyes, and relished the feeling of Newt's touch.

What was he supposed to remember?

 

They lay in the small cot in Newt's hut. It barely fit the two boys, and they were pressed together. The most comfortable way was for Newt to have his back pressed against Tommy.

It seemed too natural for Thomas to drape his arm around Newt's waist. To feel his breathing against him. To feel his warmth. His warm body. Pressed against Tommy.

Uh-Oh.

Thomas started to inch back as much as he could, trying to stay on the cot, trying to keep his erection from poking Newt. 

Newt, wanting, needing, starving for the contact, was backing up against Thomas. 

Thomas managed to turn around and hide his boner, only to feel Newt pressed against his back. Hard. 

A warm flush ran through Thomas, and he felt dizzy. He reached his hand back, and felt Newt through his pants. 

Newt gasped and whimpered a bit. The sound was both arousing and comforting. 

Thomas turned himself around again.

Newt was facing him, in the darkness. They were laying now, pressed front to front.

"Do you remember, Tommy?" Newt's voice is a whisper, and it fills Thomas with an odd mix of joy, and familiarity. 

He shakes his head, then remembers that Newt likely can't see.

"Just my name." Thomas mutters.

Something pulls Thomas forward, and Newt's lips brush him again. 

The kisses alternate between gentle and frantic, and Thomas moves against Newt, their erections trapped between their bodies, captured under their clothing.

Newt's moans and mewls harmonize with Thomas' grunts and sighs, and their fingers twist in each other's hair, and clothes.

Thomas bites Newt's lip, and the blonde moans into his lover's mouth.

Both boys climax, then their bodies rest. Sighs heave against each other, and then Thomas curls up inside Newt's arms, while the Brit rocks him to sleep.

 

Hours later, Thomas wakes, alone, in the cot, in the hut. Alone.

The night is still complete, but Newt is gone. Thomas sits up in the cot, and looks around. 

Gone.

Sighing, heavily, Thomas gets up, and looks around the hut, but finds nothing. He goes to the bathroom, in part to look, in part to clean up.

Newt isn't there. Thomas wonders if he did something wrong. 

He wonders what is supposed to remember. What Newt wants him to remember.

Thomas drifts off to sleep in his hammock, confused.

 

The day that Thomas runs into the Maze, after Minho and Alby, Newt is the model of leadership. 

Newt is wound tightly, and the boys notice, but do not challenge him. Even Gally, whom would be the main candidate for insubordination, advocates for Newt.

Every time their eyes meet, there is a knowing glance between them. What the glance knows, Newt cannot say. He only knows Gally has his back.

Newt commands the boys to dinner, to chores, to bed. He runs the group with authority, and a confident tone. 

In the quiet dark of the night, he feels nothing like that. 

Chuck wants to help, but the most he can do is somehow remind Newt of Thomas. 

Newt waits up most of the night, in his hut. His head pressed against the pillow that still smells of Thomas, and him.

What sleep he does get is tainted with nightmares. Vines. Crashing. Screams. Pain.

He sees Tommy's eyes, wide in fear. He sleeps minutes at a time. 

In the morning, when Thomas, Minho, and Alby all exit the Maze, it is a miracle.

Newt had steeled himself to have lost one, maybe two, and in his worst fear, all three of them.

That they all came out alive, almost makes Newt scream.

He holds it in. 

 

It is after, that he sees Thomas, and pulls him into a hug. They are alone, and it is a brief moment of respite, but Thomas hears him clearly.

"Don't you die on me, you bloody fool."

First, Newt shoves Thomas against the wall, cursing him for what he did, the next, he is kissing Thomas, and begging him to be careful, cause Newt can't lose him. Not now. Not ever.

 

When Thomas is in the jail, looking up at Newt, in the firelight, he doesn't understand it himself.

Newt is spending equal time being angry at him, being happy with him, and trying to explain things.

It's only when he leaves, and Chuck brings him food that Thomas feels like he can breathe.

"Why is Newt so freaked out?"

Chuck shook his head.

"I don't know. I haven't been here that long." 

Chuck shakes his head, but there is a secret smile on his chubby cheeks.

"But?" Thomas asks.

"But?" Chuck responds.

"There sounds like there's more you're not telling me."

Chuck shrugs, and Thomas sees it again. That smile.

"All I know, is..." Chuck gets up from the ground, pocketing his totem.

"I've never seen Newt behave with any of the Gladers, like he does with you." 

With that, Chuck is gone.

 

In the evening, after lights out, Newt arrives again, carrying a blanket.

"Here."

Thomas looks up, and sees Newt open up the cage door.

Reaching up, Thomas brushes Newt's fingers with his own as he takes the blanket. 

Newt's eyes soften.

"I'm sorry, about earlier." 

Thomas nods, unsure about what to say.

"What am I supposed to remember?" 

The words fly out of Thomas' mouth before he can rein them back in. 

Newt looks at him, and shrugs.

"When it matters, I guess, you'll remember." 

Newt's face crumples a bit, and he walks off into the night, leaving Thomas with a blanket that smells of him.

Of them.

Thomas sleeps deeply that night.

 

Sometime over the next few days, the world goes to Hell.

 

So it has been, it seems, Thomas' curse, to go about confused. And wanting.

Newt and he haven't had many chances to connect, but Thomas feels him. When he looks across the room, and Newt is staring at him. 

Or when in the first refuge, which turned out to be just another WCKD stronghold, just being around Newt calms him. 

He does notice when Newt is bothered, especially when it comes to Teresa. 

Thomas never misses that pointed look Newt gets, where his jaw firms, and his eyes glint. 

He doesn't understand why Newt gets so upset.

But he understands why Newt gets upset. 

Thomas doesn't understand it himself. He likes Teresa, to a point, but... it's different with Newt.

He doesn't like Teresa the same way he likes Newt. He likes her in a different way. Not in the way he likes Newt. 

But kinda the same. But he really likes Newt. In a way he doesn't like other boys. Or girls.

Still, even after all this time, Thomas can't bring himself to say the words. 

Even though they might mean everything to Newt. Thomas can't bring himself to say them. 

Bad things happen when those words are spoken.

 

"Say goodbye to your father."

Thomas is praying he won't remember this. He is young, and his name is not his own.

"Tell..." the woman pauses, and swallows, thickly.

"Tell him you love him."

Thomas reaches his hand up, and waves good bye. The man, being led away, only looks back at him, confused.

"Tell him, son."

Thomas struggles to get the words out, in a voice he doesn't remember. 

When he does, the man curls his lips and snarls.

Thomas places two chubby hands over his eyes, trying to make it go away.

 

There is a moment, in the refuge, before they fled, where they were in the showers. Thomas had been washing his hair, and felt Newt's arms encircle his waist.

He feels Newt press his head against his back, the long, graceful fingers trace Thomas' body. It feels so wonderful, and Thomas tells him so. 

Under the spray of the water, they kiss, and their bodies, now finally unclothed, are ready.

Thomas is unprepared for the sensation of Newt's lips and mouth on his body, and he does his best to return the sensation to his lover.

If there is a Heaven after death, it is this feeling. Newt's touches, kisses, caresses. 

 

But nothing lasts, Thomas observes, and soon they are on the run again. 

In the scorch they face heartache when they lose Winston, and Thomas sees something in Newt's eyes that terrifies him. 

Knowing.

Newt knows something. 

And he's not telling Thomas. 

In the scorch, he feels himself drift away from Newt, especially after Brenda joins them. 

Newt feels farther away. 

As Thomas gets closer to Brenda, he sees a similar darkness cloud Newt's eyes, the way they did with Teresa. 

The days go on, and Newt feels farther. Especially after what happens in Marcus' party house. 

Even Thomas can't excuse himself on that one.

He was drunk, or drugged, or whatever it was that was given to him.

It felt like Hell.

And in the center of Hell, the horror of what he felt, he thought, he feared.

Newt.

As a crank.

Dying.

Feral.

Thomas can't close his eyes, because he sees it. Sometimes as he looks at Newt, he sees it. 

It terrifies him. 

 

There is tension following that episode. Mostly because Thomas does not feel like he had done anything wrong. 

Newt looks torn between wanting to be next to Thomas, and wanting to be away from him.

Being on the run for your life doesn't allow much time for fun. Aside from a few kisses, and some clandestine hand holding, Thomas and Newt have little contact.

Thomas realizes how much he misses it. Needs it. Loves it.

 

After being found, and joining the Right Arm, there is a moment, after he saves Brenda, after he leaves the tent. 

Newt is there.

He looks upset, but he tries to pass the whole thing off.

Thomas knows better. 

They find the tent Vince has set aside for them, and use the absence of the other's to their advantage.

Kisses. Hugs. Caresses. Newt whispering into the shell of Thomas' ear.

"Do you remember, Tommy?" 

Thomas has no answer, but lets his lips travel over Newt's neck, his favorite place on his lover.

Newt gasps, quietly.

Thomas feels a wetness that has nothing to do with him.

He looks up, and there are tears streaming down Newt's face, down his neck. The boy is crying silently, and it scares Thomas.

"Newt. What's wrong? Newt?"

Newt lets a sob choke free, and Thomas wraps his arms around him.

They hold each other.

It reminds Thomas of something. Holding Newt, while he cries.

It's dark there, and fuzzy. Nothing is clear, but the feeling is déjà vu. 

Thomas rocks Newt back and forth, unaware that he is doing so.

 

It is later, after the confrontation, after the fire shower, after the capture of Minho, Aris, and Sonya, that he finds Newt again.

The boy is shell shocked, staring at the spot that Minho made his last stand. There are still signs of struggle in the dirt. 

When Thomas announces his plan to go and retrieve Minho from the clutches of WCKD, Newt is skeptical.

It hurts Thomas, because Newt has never doubted him before. 

In fact, Newt has championed him, broken all of the rules, risked exile, all for Thomas. All for him.

Still, Thomas won't give up. 

Newt follows him anyway. 

 

Newt has always followed him.

 

In the weeks, months, of preparation, Newt and Thomas remain close.

Brenda seems to back off, only approaching Thomas when Newt is around. 

She seems to sense something about them. She watches as they talk, listens without making it obvious. 

Jorge and her exchange knowing looks back and forth. 

They set up tents for days at a time. Newt and Thomas always in the same tent. Two cots. One is only ever used. One remains meticulously made.

Newt laughs and says its cause he's the only person who ever makes his bed. 

Thomas smiles because he knows the real answer.

They learn how to shoot, properly, firing guns at small enough targets. They get pretty good at it, too.

Alone, in the dark of their tent, they find another important use for the oil they have to keeps the guns functioning.

Newt usually stuffs a pair of his old briefs in Thomas' mouth to keep him quiet.

Thomas usually kisses Newt, to keep his sounds muffled. 

It's not as rewarding as the other things they do, mostly because they are in the desert and sand seems to get EVERYWHERE, whether you want it or not.

Still, Thomas is not a quitter, and Newt sometimes feels an odd satisfaction at feeling so full of Thomas.

As if Thomas is completing him. 

 

It's not until Newt realizes that Thomas still cares for her, that he can't deal with it anymore.

Bad enough Brenda has been making eyes at Thomas, and getting far to close for his liking.

Bad enough Thomas seems to be more than fine with that, and now... No. He can't

The virus is insidious. 

It makes you feel as if you're normal, but you're not. 

Like, you don't realize you're starting to lose your shit, until AFTER you've lost your shit. 

Like now.

It was just supposed to be a simple, snarky comment, like he always makes.

Thomas usually laughs at those. 

This time. This time, bile seeps into the words. Newt almost feels like he's watching it from outside himself.

He wants to stop his own body. He wants to shut his own mouth. 

His body, and his brain, have other ideas.

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" 

He sees the fear in Tommy's eyes. 

For the first time, ever, fear.

Newt is aware. Now.

The panting of his breathing. Difficult to regulate. 

His nose, flared, his eyes, wide. Anger. He is angry at Tommy.

He wants to hurt him. He WANTS to HURT Tommy.

The realization makes him whither, and almost like a shadow, he disappears back into himself.

For a moment, he feels the intense shame of a child that has had a tantrum. Everyone is watching him.

Frypan looks shocked. Jorge and Brenda look terrified. Gally looks sad. Like he knows.

Newt mumbles an apology, and risks one look at Thomas.

What he sees in his lover's eyes makes his heart break.

 

"What was that?" 

Thomas has left the room, and left the others in silence. 

Vince was the first to speak. 

The question is new to him, but the others, they know.

"That. That was a long time coming." Frypan says, softly. 

Brenda nods, and looks at Jorge. 

"I was afraid of that." 

Gally lets out a deep sigh.

Vince puts two and two together. 

"Oh." 

He pauses another moment.

"Oh!" 

Jorge watches as the man frowns.

"Before you say anything, hermano," Jorge pops his neck. "Those boys, are like my own. One word in the wrong tone, and WCKD will be the least of your problems."

He walks past Vince, to where Brenda and Gally are waiting by the door. 

"¿Comprende?" 

Vince nods.

 

When Newt shows Thomas the infection, it takes Thomas several minutes to realize, he's not watching some movie.

This is happening. Newt is sick. Newt is dying.

Newt has the Flare. 

He's sick.

He's dying.

And all he wants to do is rescue Minho. 

They sit at the edge of the wall, feet dangling over the ledge. 

It feels painfully awkward now. 

They haven't been together in months. 

It hits Thomas, just then, why.

Newt, always in a jacket, or long sleeves. 

Newt, not initiating their play time.

The few times before hand, with the gun oil, always in the dark.

Newt knew.

He knew he was dying. 

He said nothing.

What was to say? 

After Mary's death, they lost the only person that could have helped Newt. Maybe even could have saved him.

The loss hurts twice as deep now. 

 

"Please, Tommy, Please."

The words leave Newt's lips, his hands trembling, begging Thomas to take his necklace. Begging his lover to leave him.

To save himself.

Impossible.

Never.

Thomas would sooner die, than leave Newt.

Minho is getting the serum. They still have a chance.

Thomas pulls Newt along.

 

In the darkness, Newt sees lights. They are everywhere. 

Flares.

Bright orange, and yellow, tinged with red. 

Beautiful.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire.

Burning.

Fire.

Fire.

Burn.

Fire.

Newt is aware his body feels as though it's on fire. 

He hears her.

"Come back to me."

No.

"Come back..."

No.

"You can still..."

No.

To rise is the most difficult thing. Nothing feels right.

A foggy memory surfaces, of his childhood. 

Puppets.

Tiny dolls on strings, and wires.

He feels a tiny giggle want to bubble up. 

It starts in the bottom of his belly, and starts it's journey. 

On the way up, other images.

Alby.

Winston.

Chuck.

Teresa.

Lawrence.

Teresa.

Brenda.

Teresa.

The giggle hits a snag somewhere in his chest.

She wants him back.

Bloody fucking Hell.

Thomas turns around, as Newt reaches his feet.

His lovers eyes, eyes that he has loved since forever, are wet with unshed tears.

For him? For her? For me? 

"Newt." 

Thomas' voice cracks, and Newt wants to hold him. 

Newt wants to tell him that he's there, and that he will never leave him.

That everything that they have shared, everything that they have done together, everything has been a blessing.

He wants to laugh, because every time he laughs, Thomas does, and it makes them both feel better.

So Newt tries, tries, tries to pull a laugh out of himself.

It leaves his mouth as a terrifying, guttural, scream.

 

Thomas knows what Newt's body can do. In the year that he has known him, Thomas has been impressed with how strong Newt is.

Not just emotionally, mentally, but physically as well.

Has he not shared a bed with him for almost a year?

The blonde's body is a marvel of beauty. The way that his slim, sleek muscles move under his warm, velvet skin. 

Had he not felt those powerful muscles in Newt's shoulders and they bunched up in his back, on top of Thomas?

Not like this.

The once comfortable, comforting weight of Newt on top of his hips, his chest, his body.

Not like this.

The soft growls of pleasure and pain like a symphony in his ears?

Not like this.

Thomas does what he can to keep Newt's anger and attack at bay, but Newt's strength is there.

And Thomas cannot fight back. 

He can not.

Newt comes to his senses, a few times. He pleads for Thomas to kill him.

He can not.

Newt lands a punch, solid against Tommy's face, and the world spins.

Thomas tastes blood, and his vision blurs.

Newt is charging him.

Thomas waits for death.

"Fight Me!" Newt screams.

"Bloody! Fight! Me!

Newt lands another blow, almost knocking Thomas out.

Minho will get here, soon.

The knowledge lets Thomas rest.

Newt is sobbing, over Thomas.

"Fight me, Tommy. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry Thomas. I'm sorry." 

Newt is a blubbering mess, tears and bile, and tar and anger.

"Newt." 

Thomas crawls over, and holds Newt. 

He does not know how long he has.

He doesn't care anymore.

"I love you, Newt." 

A sob wracks from Newt's chest, and he looks up at Tommy. 

His Tommy.

Tommy, who he's always loved.

"I remember Newt." 

Tommy, who he's never been able to say no to.

"I remember."

Tommy. Who he must kill now.

"I remember. Us."

 

"It's going to be okay, son." 

His mother walks him toward the gate, where his future will begin. 

She had not been herself lately. She had been more irritable. Prone to mumbling. Fits of rage that are over as soon as they start. 

One day, she sharpened a knife, while staring at him. 

The next day, she contacted WCKD. 

Now, standing in front of the gates, she begs him to say the words.

"Son. Please, just tell me." 

The words stick in his throat. He sees his father's snarling face before him.

Bad things happen when he says the words. 

He tried saying it to his mother one night, and she screamed, and threw a pot at him, almost hitting him in the head.

He can't. He won't say the words. 

But he does, and the look his mother gives him makes him want to take the words back.

Hers is the face of a shattered heart, with nothing but despair to look forward to, and Thomas vows to never say the words again.

 

Thomas leans forward, and kisses Newt. 

If he is going to die today, it will be loving Newt, not fighting him. 

He presses his lips to Newt's, wishing he could apologize at the same time.

He feels Newt's arms around him, struggling to fight, to hug, to fight, to hold.

Thomas sobs, his tears flowing.

Please, Newt, please.

Just let me die in your arms.

Thomas feels his tears fall, as Newt devours him. His kisses, his energy. He is not bothered by the blood.

Why should he be? He's immune.

Unlike Newt.

Newt who had spent forever risking everything for Thomas.

Newt deserved better. 

He deserved peace.

It is several moments later, that Thomas realizes that Newt is gone. 

He pulls back, to find that Newt lying still on the floor. His clouded eyes stare aimlessly into the starless night.

Thomas feels tears fall. His mouth is dry. Barren as a desert.

A scream wants to come up from the depths of him.

It doesn't.

He allows himself to brush a strand of hair from Newt's face. 

An image breaks through the haze of Thomas' memory.

"Stop that, Tommy." 

The weak light in Thomas' room illuminates the soft, clothed form of Newt on his cot.

Newt leans into Tommy's hand, even as he protests. Thomas moves the strand from Newt's face.

"Why? I like looking at you." 

Newt wrinkles his nose. 

Thomas leans down to kiss Newt's nose.

"Oh, Tommy."

Newt beams a smile at Thomas.

 

Thomas would give his own life to see that smile again. He feels the absence of weight in his belt. The gun that Newt tried to use on himself lay feet away.

Standing, Thomas reaches for the gun, and cocks it.

The weight of the gun in his hand is the weight of every decision in the world.

He'd give everything.

The gun in his hand could give him that. He thinks, for a moment, it could reunite them.

They'd be at peace. It would mean everything. He thinks.

Everything.

"Thomas?" 

Brenda's voice is soft, and terrified. 

She stares, incredulously, at the scene in front of her.

Newt, laying motionless on the floor.

Thomas, holding a gun.

The world burning around them.

Thomas leaves.

 

He walks through the war of the streets, daring death to come for him.

Fucking do it.

Bullets whiz by him, like hornets, and he walks, gun in hand, toward the tower.

To her.

To them.

To end it.

To end them all.

As he walks, his illusions fall away, and with them, the barriers in his mind.

He should have said it.

He should have told Newt before, when he had the chance.

Instead of feeling the fear.

Instead of fearing what it might mean.

Instead of being too late to tell Newt.

 

But no, Newt had never said it, either. He never said it to Thomas. Not once did the "L" word pass Newt's lips to Thomas.

Another wedge of his memory broke lose.

But Newt had. Newt had told him, all the time.

"You can't give up. I won't let you."

"You can't do this alone." 

"I couldn't take it, Tommy. Not you."

He had always told him.

"Starting tomorrow, you're a runner."

He had always done that for him.

Newt had always.... he had always loved him.

Newt had always 

"You look like a million bucks for three in the morning."

loved him

"Please, Tommy, please."

endlessly. Even in his rage.

"DON'T! LIE! TO! ME!"

With every step, Thomas felt his rage burn. 

Newt.

"I'm coming for you Newt."

Newt.

"We can still fix this."

Thomas grunted in the pain of his words.

"We can still fix..."

Another memory breaks away, and floats down his consciousness.

Newt is close to tears, and Thomas can see him trying to be brave.

"They're going to send me in, aren't they?" 

Thomas nods, his words failing him.

Newt nods in response.

"I'll be brave, Tommy." 

They are laying in the cot in Thomas' room. He can feel Newt's slim frame shaking in his arms. It is the day before they will prep the boys.

Thomas snuck Newt in to his room, in the middle of the night. He doesn't care if they are caught. He needs Newt, just as much as he knows Newt needs him, now.

"Tommy. Please don't let them do anything bad to me."

Thomas feels his heart breaking, in the soft crack in Newt's voice.

"It wouldn't be fair, not now, not that I've...."

Newt squeezes Thomas tighter. He knows Thomas won't let him say the words.

"Please, don't forget about me. About us."

"I won't. I won't ever forget about us Newt."

Thomas held Newt close, and placed a kiss on the top of Newt's head, taking in Newt's scent.

"I'll do everything I can to keep anything from happening to you."

 

Thomas stops in the middle of the street, and the scream that started when Newt turned to face him, as a crank, grew, and grew, and grew, until he erupted.

His body buckled, and he screamed loudly, with such force, he tasted fresh blood.

Around him, buildings, hit by bombs shattered, and fell.

For a moment, just a sliver of a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that he leveled the buildings with just his rage.

He walked into the main WCKD building, and, jaw set, went looking for Ava Paige.

 

It's funny, the things that happen when you're dying. Thomas had every intention of going to help. 

Now, here he was, dying.

Teresa was holding him, and he was bleeding from a wound in his stomach, courtesy of Jansen. 

Thomas was in and out of consciousness.

"Don't give up now."

Thomas looked up at Newt.

"You can't give up. I won't let you." 

Thomas started to whine.

"No." Newt shushed him gently, and lowered his mouth to Thomas', gently kissing him.

"It's going to be okay, Tommy. I promise."

The next thing he knew, he was being pulled up into a berg, by Minho, and Vince. 

 

There is commotion in the berg. There is screaming and yelling, and he vaguely hears Minho yelling something, then fading into the distance.

His vision blurred, and he went in and out of focus.

"Fight, Tommy."

Newt's voice was in his ear again.

"Don't you dare give up. Not now. Not now, when we finally...."

Newt's arms encircle Thomas, and he lets himself go. A feeling of warmth spreads through Thomas' gut, radiating outward down his center.

He is going to die, and that's okay.

Newt will be there, waiting for him.

"I'm coming for you, Newt."

 

Thomas feels such pain. 

It shouldn't hurt this much to die. 

Not with an angel already holding him.

"Come on Tommy, you can do it."

Thomas can't do a thing. All he can do is take in the feeling of Newt's arms.

Newt's robe is scratchy, and it feels like Heaven should be able to afford better robes.

"We made it Tommy. We made it."

Thomas closes his eyes, and feels Newt's angelic lips press against his eyelids. 

His body hurts so much, and he feels some pain as Newt holds him, then warmth, then sleep.

 

Newt is watching him when he wakes. Heaven, or after life, where ever they are, agrees with Newt.

His hair looks more golden, his skin pinker. His eyes are no longer rheumy with clouds. His smile is deeper. 

"You're doing it Tommy. You're almost there. Just rest."

Thomas feels Newt's lips press against him again, this time on his cheek. 

Yes. Heaven. Even if Newt stinks a little bit.

Does Heaven have showers? 

 

Thomas wakes in the dark, and Newt is pressed against him. Thomas notes how good it feels when his arm is wrapped around Newt.

He notices the cot is small, and they are pressed together. Newt's hand is grasping Tommy's and both are pressed to the older boy's soft tummy.

Newt is asleep, but he twitches and whimpers on occasion. Thomas keeps his eyes closed, but his touches constant. 

Thomas presses his lips to the back of Newt's neck, and curls his body up to Newt.

Newt relaxes, and his breathing returns to normal. Thomas lets his body slow, and his breathing match Newt's.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Thomas focuses on Newt's breathing, and falls back to sleep.

 

Waking up, Thomas notices three things.

The most surprising? He doesn't think he's actually dead.

The most relieving? His side hurts much, much less. 

The most distressing? No Newt.

Thomas gingerly gets off of the cot. He is not wearing the same clothes from that night.

Jeez, it feels like millions of years ago.

Thomas stretches, feeling bones and tendons pop, and snap. His side still aches too much from the bullet wound, so he favors it a bit.

He moves the fabric that hangs from the door, and enters paradise.

 

He finds them all, approaching him, in a clearing near the meeting point.

Thomas hugs all of them. Minho is the last, and whispers in Thomas' ear.

"He's waiting for you, over in the lake."

Thomas follows Minho's instructions, and Thomas finds Newt there, in the lake.

As he approaches, he sees that Newt is naked, and washing himself. He flicks water out of his hair and eyes, and looks over.

The smile on Newt's face grows as Thomas walks up to the lake, shedding his clothes. 

When he strips down to his skin, and walks into the water, Newt is waiting for him. 

Nothing will ever feel as good as Newt's arms around him.

Nothing will ever taste as sweet as Newt's kisses.

"I love you." 

Thomas mumbles against Newt's lips, and presses his body closer.

Almost like they could meld together into a single person. 

He feels Newt do the same.

"I know." 

He can feel Newt's smile against his neck. 

"I've always loved you, Tommy."

Thomas pauses, savoring the feel of Newt so close to him.

"I know. 

 

Much later, dried, and fully clothed, they are wrapped around each other, sitting inside their hut, being checked on by the resident med chief.

"It looks like the wound is healed up. It will still be tender for a bit."

Thomas feels Newt sigh in relief.

"I was afraid he was never gonna bloody heal." 

Teresa rose from her seated position, and cleaned off her hands. 

She picked up a pen light, and pointed it into Newt's eyes.

"The patina has broken, just like I'd hoped." 

Teresa's blue eyes search Newt's for any trace abnormalities.

"Still, I think you should still take it easy, for at least a few more days."

She turns away, hiding a smile.

"So no strenuous activity for a few days."

 

At dinner later that night, Thomas sat next to Newt, Jorge, and Minho.

"Teresa was right. There was something in your blood that defeats the virus."

Thomas held Newt's hand to his face and kissed the slim, pale fingers.

"So when you kissed me, after I busted your jaw..." Newt blushes, "Your blood went right into me."

Jorge had a small, satisfied smile on his face.

"The blood entered my body through my mouth, and lacerations on my person, and circulated through me pretty quickly."

Minho watched them both, his hands slowly wringing. 

"After you left Newt, we came. Brenda and Fry. We were all so shocked, Gally was the only one that noticed Newt was breathing, shallowly."

Thomas swallowed, trying not to imagine how Newt looked when he left him.

"We took him, and carried him onto the berg, and at some point, he came back too. Looked like klunk for a bit there."

A bitter smile crossed Minho's face, and for a moment, Thomas realized that he may not be the only person who was in love with Newt.

The thought was sweet, but made him feel odd. So he changed the subject.

"So what happened on the roof?"

Jorge shrugged. 

"I was driving. I remember that Teresa had been calling for you over the P.A. system, so when Brenda saw you leave, she figured that's where you went."

Minho sighed. 

"After Vince and I grabbed you, and get you on the berg, we.... well, I, realized how much Teresa could help. She knew how to cure Newt. For good. 

Minho bit his lip. 

"So we needed her. We needed what she knew. My... my need to help Newt was greater than my hate and distrust of her."

Minho wouldn't let his eyes meet Thomas'. 

"So I tied a rope around me, and dove out to grab Teresa, as the building fell."

"All I remember... I saw her fall..." Thomas vaguely remembered what he saw.

"You almost fell out, but Newt had held on to you." 

Thomas felt a gentle squeeze around his waist, from Newt.

"I had Teresa, and then we were back on the berg. When we got back here, she cured Newt."

He sipped his drink.

"That's all. Don't read into it. I still hate her for what she did."

Thomas felt his eyes darken. Newt automatically began to rub Tommy's back. 

"But she cured Newt." 

For a moment, Thomas sees something flash in Minho's eyes, but it is gone in seconds.

"That's all that matters."

 

Teresa spends most all of her time in her med shed, reviewing numbers, and checking formulas. 

"Thank you." 

Thomas stands in the doorway of her hut, a hand on each side of the frame.

"It's the least I could do, for an old friend."

Her tone is tired, but short. As though she's been expecting this conversation for some time, and is tired of it before it starts.

"I know you don't agree with what I did. I know you don't approve of the methods. If we didn't, then Newt wouldn't have survived."

Thomas nodded.

"So, for me, the ends justified the means."

"I understand." Thomas croaks out.

"You're not blameless, either." 

Thomas feels the tears pool in his eyes. He knows.

"You helped build the maze. You helped with the data collection to create the grievers, you gave them the first wave of people."

Thomas feels the tears fall, heavy, from his eyes.

"I saved Newt, because I cared about you. It became pretty clear that you both meant a lot to each other." 

Thomas felt himself blush.

"And after all you went through, I felt the least I could do was save him. For you."

Teresa's tone had become upset.

"Tom. I only ever cared...." 

"Hey." Thomas approached Teresa, and put his arms around her. 

"I'm sorry." 

"You don't know how much you meant to me, Tom."

Thomas nodded.

"I can understand." 

They stood there a moment, in full understanding of each other.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you." 

Teresa nodded.

"I'm sorry I did what I did. How I did it." 

"Can we start over. As friends?"

Teresa shrugged. 

"For a price." 

She smiled, but it wasn't evil. 

Teresa walked over to a cabinet, and unlocked it. 

A dozen vials sat inside, full of blue liquid.

"I got all of this serum off of one vial of your blood."

Thomas nodded, appreciatively. 

"So, just to be safe, I'm thinking, once a month, you give some blood, I build a collection. If infection comes here, we can clear it, right away."

Thomas nodded.

"That's fine."

"It's insurance." 

"I agreed." 

Teresa smirked. 

"I know. Force of habit. It usually takes forever to get through to you." 

Thomas laughed.

 

"I bloody love you, you know." 

Newt and Thomas are in the gardens. Newt is shirtless, and digging a trench, while Thomas stands, leaning on his shovel.

It had been one fall, and one winter, since they arrived at the safe haven. 

Thomas is supposed to be digging with Newt, but every now and then, he stops to stare at the Brit. 

Sometimes it's during meals, and sometimes after work hours, when they sit in their hut, Newt making notes on the days' crops.

Newt will look back and whisper, or say softly, or just mouth out the words, "I love you", to Thomas. It still makes the brunette blush.

Thomas will stop by Newt in the gardens, or the mess hall, and always before bed, with a kiss on the blonde's shoulder, tell him, "I love you".

Newt reasons, "We spent so much time apart, or not saying it, I need to say it all the time, to make up for time we lost."

Thomas never argues. He also has never felt better, telling Newt he loves him. 

As though the words and actions repair all of the pain and hurt inside them. 

Curing them.


End file.
